


love in me the likes of which you've never seen

by ang3lsh1



Category: X-Men: Days of Future Past (2014) - Fandom
Genre: Angst, Canon Compliant, Canon Disabled Character, Gen, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Introspection, Literary References & Allusions, M/M, Substance Abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-29
Updated: 2014-11-29
Packaged: 2018-02-27 09:30:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,540
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2687765
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ang3lsh1/pseuds/ang3lsh1
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>“But all Shaw ever did was perhaps create the creature himself, his nurturing didn’t go very far to help him with his abilities. I’m afraid the rapid improvement and enormity of Erik’s powers can all be attributed to my own nurturing. So doesn’t that, in fact make me Doctor Frankenstein instead?”</i>
</p><p> </p><p>Spanning the aftermath of Cuba to the end of Days of Future Past - a short introspective on Charles Xavier.</p>
            </blockquote>





	love in me the likes of which you've never seen

**Author's Note:**

  * For [spaceAltie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/spaceAltie/gifts).



> Written for **spaceAltie** , I hope you enjoy my fill.
> 
> More notes at the end of the fic.
> 
> The title is a quote from Mary Shelley's Frankenstein. Quotes from Days of Future Past might have been used a little liberally.

The Westchester mansion had once been home to the bustle of a myriad activities, from servants to valets, all under the strict gaze of the head butler. All this ended when Sharon Xavier finally passed on, with Charles content to shut the mansion up as he left for Oxford and another life.

Years passed and the hallways gathered dust and cobwebs, home to echoes of muffled tears, the thuds of fists sinking to a small, child’s body or the muffled thumps as one fell down steps. Until Charles had a reason to come back and saw fit to fill those empty hallways—fill it with laughter, comfort and most of all safety, a safe haven for his kind—there would be no better way to erase the old by building upon new and brighter memories.

Despite the reasons that forced Charles to reopen the mansion, their fledgling team did fill it with better memories. Tutoring the boys, no, helping them better hone their gifts, and watching their faces light up with what they could do—especially Alex—went on to further cement Charles’ wishes to turn this place into a school. Not even what came to pass in Cuba would deter him from that. He had a goal now; he would put those memories past him and he would move forward.

In the beginning of this new era it was mostly rebuilding Cerebro, with both Charles and Hank cobbling plans and ideas together to form the beginnings of Xavier School for Gifted Youngsters while both Alex and Sean worked on completing their diplomas, in between recruiting mutants that Charles had located using the newly rebuilt Cerebro, eager to help out any way they could. It took a few years before they managed to get the fine print sorted but finally in 1965, the Xavier School for Gifted Youngsters opened its doors.

And it worked, with the four of them fielding classes and acting as dorm masters, but really more like matrons with the way Charles literally mother-henning the little ones to death in the beginning. It didn't take long, but other people started filtering in, teachers and students alike. The cold, empty halls, slowly became over crowded with the sound laughter and childish shrieks as children ran about with glee, the warmth of a home seeped in slowly and Charles could finally stop in a hallways and breath in the warmth of a family.

Then the draft letters started coming in.

One by one, they left, either conscripted or having fled to Canada to avoid the draft. Charles gave them their blessing as they left, promising them they would have a job should they choose to come back after everything had blown over. Then it was Sean and then Alex, and with no loophole that Charles or Hank could exploit to keep them exempted, Charles let them go with a heavy heart. Eventually Charles found himself unable to justify keeping the school open when they had very few students left and not enough help to care for them.

The Xavier School for Gifted Youngsters shut it’s doors in 1971.

Walls that were once filled with people have become empty and cold again. Running the school and dealing with the children had given Charles a reason to pull himself out of bed, to go through the rigorous physiotherapy and it made him happy, to still be able to do something he loved. Without the school to run, the children in the halls, there was nothing for him to grasp at and no one to drown out the noises in his head. The irony being that once the halls were silent enough, Charles’ telepathy stretched itself further, just to find minds to fill the void, but instead of the joy he used to feel at being surrounded by those minds, all he felt was dread. The joy of using Cerebro had lost its lustre. The last time he tried it, he couldn't bear the screams of mutants all around him.

When Hank came up with a modified prototype of the serum, it was a boon to Charles. No longer would he need to drown in the voices calling out for help he could no longer provide; he could finally be able to sleep. Being able to use his legs once more was a pleasant side effect. This way - well Hank needn't be the one to lope down the cellar to fetch the last of the good whiskey. All the better, since Hank wouldn't be able to send him those reproachful looks and enquiries as to the doses and whatever else he had been taking, after all what Hank didn't know won’t hurt him.

Force of habit kept Charles in the North Wing. When they’d come back from Cuba, it had been easier to move his main office and bedroom to the ground floor, rather than have to navigate up and down the ornate stairs. Once the elevator had been coaxed into proper working order, he just never got around to moving back up. Besides the morning light that came through the windows made it easier for him to wake up. The easier to force himself out of bed, to get through the physiotherapy. He had set himself goals, he could get through this, it wasn't going to stop him from opening up a school, a safe haven for other mutants.

Now there was no reason for him to rise with the sun any longer, there was no need for lessons to plan, for lectures to give, the mansion was as empty as before save for himself and Hank.

Still, Charles is nothing but a creature of habit, unable to give up the rooms, unwilling to move to his old room that kept memories of kisses and promises left unsaid and unfulfilled. Instead he chose just cover the large windows with the old drapes, and if that wasn't enough well, as long as his covers were thick enough to shield him from the sun, what did it matter. No reason to shift back to that old wing. Especially when it held memories he didn't want to remember.

These days he didn't even bother to shift from the makeshift study. The lumpy old couch was comfort enough. The cellar was closer anyway.

It was easier to drown memories here in whiskey.

A knock on the door. Maybe if Charles buried his head deeper into the couch and covered his ears with a cushion it would go away. There were no papers left for him so sign after all, Hank had been given proper power of attorney, the minute he was discharged from the hospital. Better to have Hank able to perform and sign for any tasks involving the school if Charles had been indisposed.

Just when he thought Hank would have given up, the door creaked open. “Pro...Charles?” Hank called out tentatively, even through the drunk haze he smelt the scent of bread and the sweetness of corn. When was the last time he had eaten?

Far too long by the sound of his stomach rumbling and the sharp ache once he registered the scent of food properly. No sense in passing it up, especially when he knew Hank would not leave him be until he finished, Charles pushed himself up from where he was sprawled on the couch and reached out for the tray, which Hank placed on the table before him.

Hank blinked before pushing his glasses up and straightening up, nervous ticks that Charles had assumed Hank had grown out of, but then again in his current state of dishabille, well perhaps he made Hank uneasy or rather the situation. An age ago he would have tried to soothe Hank’s discomfort, but now, Charles simply busied himself with eating.

Determined to stay and ensure Charles actually finished his meal, Hank took to browsing about the books strewn across the makeshift library as a proper reason to remain in Charles’ company. They had converted the closest rooms to Charles’ current bedroom into his study and filled it mostly with books pertaining to lesson plans and how to run the school itself, but over time Charles’ own books came down to stay.

Charles chose to ignore Hank moving about, hunched over his meal, eager to finish quickly. Hank wouldn't leave until he had finished his meal, this he learnt from experience. Besides the sooner he finished, the sooner Hank could leave him be to be with his dear friend, Macallan. He was surprised when Hank settled back down on the couch opposite him with a book in hand, flipping through it.

“Robert Louis Stevenson’s Jekyll and Hyde,” Hank answered Charles’ raised eyebrow.

“I thought you’d already made peace with the beast?” Charles asked, swallowing around his mouthful.

“Yes well, sometimes I like to come back to it, I guess,” Hank mumbled, poring over the book.

Books… well, books he wouldn't mind talking about, better than Hank inquiring as to his health and how much of the serum had he been using lately. The ability to sleep and ignore all else was tantamount to his sanity these days, he’d never thought he would ever long for a day without his telepathy but the boon was that he didn’t need to listen to the rest of the world. And he didn't subconsciously try to seek out those two minds that matter the most only to remember that they abandoned him and wouldn't be pleased to have him in their heads.

“Personally I prefer the Once and Future King, but my copy has been missing for some time,” Charles lied. He knew perfectly well who had his copy, though now it probably lost in the remains of one of the Brotherhood safe houses, probably rotting away in the mildew.

“Arthur Pendragon? Yes,” Hank said thoughtfully, as he pushed his glasses up his nose. “I can see that. King Arthur and his loyal knights, a bit like the X-men.”

Charles laughed at that, “Not only that but with my Lancelot stealing Guinevere away also?” He was drunk enough that making the allusions would not make him bitter. Well, not too bitter. There was more whiskey in the decanter to make that go away too.

Hank initially cringed in response but joined in with an afterthought, “Does that make me Elaine?” Which only served to make Charles laugh harder.

Hank leant back on the couch, the book in his hand forgotten, “We make a sorry pair, the two of us, don’t we.”

“Yes well, but really, instead of Lancelot, he was more likely to compare himself to Frankenstein’s creature.” Charles added, as he leant forward to pour himself more whiskey. Clearly If he was actually going to bring this subject up, there was no way he would remain sober for it. And he was well likely going to nullify any and all chances of him sobering up in the middle of the discussion by drinking even more.

Hank pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose, shifting at the change of topic, “Considering what had been done to him at the hands of a madman, I can see his point.”

“But all Shaw ever did was perhaps create the creature himself, his nurturing didn't go very far to help him with his abilities,” Charles paused as he swallows down the amber liquid in his tumbler before pouring himself a few more generous inches. “I'm afraid the rapid improvement and enormity of Erik’s powers can all be attributed to my own nurturing. So doesn't that, in fact make me Doctor Frankenstein instead?”

“However the Doctor never nurtured the creature himself, the minute he found that his creation was alive, he abandoned it almost immediately. You would never abandon anyone of us, Professor,” Hank pressed on earnestly.

A low bitter laugh rose up as Charles leant back against the couch, “No, no I don’t suppose so. I've been the one left behind, it seems.”

He gestured at the half-eaten tray with the hand that held on to the half-full tumbler, “I'm sorry Hank, but I don’t think I could eat any more. Instead, I find that I’d like to be alone now. Please.”

Used to the swift changes in Charles’ moods these days, there was nothing Hank could do to press Charles into finishing, but at least he had managed to get half the meal down. So he gathered the tray and as he opened the door to leave the study, something occurred to him.

“For what it’s worth, Professor, I don’t think you’re the doctor in this story. Despite the creature’s flaws, you loved him best and offered him a home. It’s not any fault of yours that he chose not to take it, being much more inclined to his creator’s ideals. But I think that makes you Elizabeth, eager to love and forgive, more than anything else,” Hank offered up quietly before leaving the Professor to his own vices.

The year passed on in a haze of alcohol, weed and serum in between, perhaps Hank was aware of what he was going through, or he didn't quite want to see his esteemed mentor brought this low. Charles content to wallow in his thoughts, happy to be left alone but grateful that not once did Hank even consider leaving him to his own demons. Or maybe Hank did entertain the notion, but Charles would never know now, and he rested easier that way. Besides the fact that Hank remained spoke for itself.

The bubble that they has ensconced themselves in burst in the early days of 1973, literally with the arrival of Logan. Despite his adamant and furious protests, interjected with Hank’s own valid reasoning, Charles found himself thinking of Erik, wondering if this could be a second chance at reconciliation, perhaps if what Logan said was true - that both Erik and himself had sent this man back to - that sometime in the future, they were both united in cause. He hated himself for that little flutter in his chest, knowing that with this, the Pandora’s chest locked deep, down in he still held hope.

When the day came to actually break Erik out of the Pentagon, Charles spent agonizing minutes trying to decide on how to best present himself to Erik until he ran out of time and hastily threw clothes on. Surprisingly, no one commented on it, not even Pietro. He ran through the words in his head, rehearsing scenario after scenario, thinking of all possible angles, even being soaked by the sprinklers didn't stop him from thinking of what would happen when he finally saw Erik again. And then the doors opened.

No amount of reasoning with himself could have prepared Charles for the sight of Erik. Ten years in solitary and even in a plain prison uniform, he still made Charles’ heart pound and reflex took over as he felt his face curl into a snarl as he threw a punch. God that felt good.

If Charles thought the first sight of Erik after all those years would be difficult, he clearly wasn't thinking about having to spend the hours in a small metal object flying in the sky at rather disturbing speeds, with someone he had just gotten into a screaming row with and he just didn't see how anything Logan had said about them had any grain of truth when, even now after all those years there was nothing they can agree on. Every word Erik had said, felt like shards digging into wounds, he hadn't realise he had left open to fester when he was forced to close the school.

Later in the night when Erik came over with the chess set, it felt like a peace offering. Was this what Logan had meant, their chance for reconciliation, perhaps in those years Erik did take to Charles’ words and gave thought to Kennedy’s actions. That there was a chance for both mutants and humans to coexist, to accept the other. And the chest in his heart opened further, hope fluttering to the surface; the words hung on the tip of Charles’ tongue. _Do you still think of yourself as Frankenstein’s creature, Erik? More importantly, do you think of me as your creator?_ The cowardice that consumed him over the past year held his tongue for him.

By the time they arrived in Paris, despite his better judgement, Charles had begun to hope again, giddy with the prospect and the fact that he had Erik by his side again, and if they succeeded in swaying Raven. There was too much hope in that thought for him to bear.

True to form, everything came crashing down the minute they saw Raven.

In that moment of clarity he knew they never wanted the same things and Erik had truly become a creature unknown to him. Even if he still had his telepathy, Charles wasn't sure if he could bear to sink into that mind and to know for sure. Pandora’s box slammed shut and he did the best he could to manage the situation so the three of them could limp home to lick their wounds. After that, how could he possibly believe that both himself and Erik had sent this man back? The only bright side was that Erik had failed in killing Raven.

Charles would have escaped back into the bottom of a bottle to feel the prick of a needle against his skin, if it wasn't for Logan. Logan and his damn belief that somehow Charles would pull through and be that better man that he no longer believed he could be. The relief in Hank’s eyes as he helped Charles into the old chair, spoke volumes to him. It told him, despite what Erik thought Hank believed that Raven could still be saved. It was obvious in Logan’s manner that he believed otherwise, but if Hank still believed he would try to press on.

It was no different from the last time he placed Cerebro upon his brow, if anything it felt worse, mutants everywhere were crying out to him and once again there was nothing he could do about it. He tried his best to pinpoint Raven’s location, eager to seek out her familiar mind, but his telepathy had remained dormant for years. It leaped from mind to mind, and he couldn't sort himself from their pain and his pain, there was too much when Cerebro broke the breakers.

Another time it would have been humourous to have Logan trying to soothe him with platitudes.

Not now. Not with so much at stake.

_’My power, it comes from here. And it's broken - I feel like one of my students, helpless. It was a mistake coming down here. It was a mistake freeing Erik. This whole thing has been one, bloody mistake! I'm sorry, Logan, but they sent back the wrong man!’_

It was like swimming in a dream, hazy and murky, with the light filtering through the stained glass. Logan upon the dais, his temple cradled by a young girl, bleeding from her side.

And he thought things were bleak on their side.

He took a cautious step forward and then Charles saw them, the two of them together, side by side. There was no mistaking it, of course the bastard would have a crown of silver, still thick as ever, while he himself would have lost all his hair.

They were both leaning towards each other, Erik had his eyes shut, his expression almost at peace despite the dire situation surrounding them, his body angled towards his older self and Charles followed the line of his arm, to see both their hands entwined. Hope fluttered again in his chest, perhaps Logan was right. Erik and himself, did indeed send Logan back to set things right. Perhaps they were united not only in cause, but in -

Charles opened his eyes and saw himself.

_’Just because someone stumbles and loses their path, doesn't mean they're lost forever. Sometimes, we all need a little help.’_

Washington was a mess.

Charles was a mess, clinging on to Hank for balance, he’s pretty sure that his wheelchair was unsalvageable, buried beneath the rubble that was the RFK stadium.

Honestly, leave it to Erik to have theatrics and to leave a mess without a care to others.

But in that one moment, after Raven had viciously yanked the helmet off Erik’s head, Charles had sunk into his mind, it was meant to be ultaritarion, to remove the rubble off himself; he found Erik’s mind was not as foreign as he feared it had become, instead there was regret over Erik’s actions and relief that the crisis was resolved without bloodshed; before he released his hold on Erik. He was still the man Charles had loved - still loves - somewhere, deep down.

At that point it didn't matter if he was Frankenstein or Elizabeth, because unlike them, he was still alive and he can love the creature but he will not be blindsided by Erik’s guile, he will navigate through this and perhaps what he saw in that distant future shall come to pass.

_’It takes time, Hank. For us all to be together again.’_

**Author's Note:**

> Originally written for the prompt _by giving Erik a big purpose, by teaching him how to use his powers, Charles created Magneto... Without Charles, Magneto would never have existed. I would love to have Charles' inside thoughts on the subject, feeling like Frankenstein in front of his creature, except that he's madly in love with his creature...._
> 
> I went with Danny Boyle's theatre production of Frankenstein for this piece, as I am not too familiar with the original. I hope that's still alright with you.
> 
> Thank you to my betas for helping with nitpicking details and holding my hand while I gnashed teeth at this, any errors are all my own. Also the time line for the movies was too messed up so I went ahead and fudged it to make it work.


End file.
